


Under The Bleachers

by Devilc



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Blow Job, High School, M/M, Public Sex, school sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 02:30:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reading and, um, "stuff" under the bleachers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under The Bleachers

**Author's Note:**

> Tim, Landry, and the books they're reading for their book by a Texas Writer assignment. Takes place after [Not the Last Tim and Landry Show ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/48726).
> 
> I struggled with this story — I was going to make it angsty, but Tim and Landry aren't about angst. They are, ultimately, about the sweeter things in life. (Not that the road there isn't bumpy.)
> 
> Thanks to Hafital for the beta.

The wind's kind of raw and cold today, so Tim tells Landry to meet him under the bleachers.

The light's dim and the stale air has a weird smell that's a mixture of cement, paint, spilled soda, and Fritos, but mostly it's the ghost of a thousand cigarettes.

Tim hunkers down against one of the support pillars. Landry should show in a few minutes. Tim has no plans to tell him he's already read the book he selected for their "book by a noted Texas writer" cover to cover.

He just likes to have Landry read to him.

(He just likes Landry.)

Besides, the stories in Joe R. Lansdale's _Writer of the Purple Rage_ were scary, and weird, and frankly, laugh-out-loud funny in several places, and Tim can already see Landry cracking up over the story about Godzilla in the 12-step program, and Tim also wants to watch the movie version of "Bubba Ho-Tep" with him.

He and Jason loved that movie, maybe even more than _Army of Darkness_. And discovering a few years back that Billy had taped all the episodes of _Brisco County Jr_ way back when he was 10 or so and not thrown them away or taped over them? Gravy.

Tim misses Jay so much it's like getting the wind knocked out of him. He closes his eyes and pulls a deep breath of that nasty air in and forces himself to label all the different smells in it. It doesn't help much. Losing Jason's like losing a fucking leg.

(No, it's a bit more like somebody cut half of his heart out.)

"And I thought the locker room had a funky odor." Landry's voice snaps him back to the here and now.

Tim flips the book towards him in an underhand pass. "Catch."

Landry's too white eyebrows climb a few notches as he takes in the cover. "Lansdale. Huh. I mean, I knew you weren't going to go for Katherine Anne Porter, but damn, I was half-afraid I'd be reading _Lonesome Dove_."

"Even Smash's mouth would give out on that one," Tim deadpans.

They both laugh.

"Tim," Landry begins in a flip tone, "this book looks like it's been read."

"I got it used," Tim lies. He can't tell Landry the whole truth, because then Landry might not read to him, and Tim _needs_ this. Needs Landry.

(Needs Jason, but that's not going to happen. Not right now. Maybe not ever. _Fuck_.)

"What are you reading?" he asks.

"_Savage Tales of Solomon Kane_. Robert E. Howard." Landry bites his lip in thought for a moment then says, "I thought about one of the Conan collections "

"Wait. Conan as in Conan the Barbarian?"

"Yup."

Tim shakes his head in wonderment. "Wow. Conan the Barbarian was created by a Texan." See, that's what he likes about Landry. For all that he was kind of a goober and ran on at the mouth, you always learned some sort of cool, interesting fact -- a hell of a lot more interesting than anything you heard that day in class -- and Landry seemed to have an endless supply of them.

"Yeah. Cross-Plains. It's a tiny little spot on the map out in the ass end of nowhere." Pause. "Let me guess. You thought Conan originated with Ah-nuld."

Tim sighs. People always think he was a lot stupider than he is, but that had been going on so long it didn't bother him -- much -- anymore. "No. I thought he was created out in Hollywood, but during the 30s or 40s. Like all those old Sinbad or pirate movies they show on AMC late at night."

"Nope. Conan's pure Texas," Landry laughs. "I'm doing Solomon Kane, though. He's an adventurer and a Puritan and stands up against evil wherever he sees it."

Tim wonders if he was also on a crusade against anything fun, because as he understood it, Puritans were pretty much like Southern Baptists. "Let's get to it," he says.

Landry opens the book. "Cool. Bubba Ho-Tep. I love that movie."

Happiness is a small hot flare in Tim. "We should watch it sometime," he says, careful to keep the right note of casualness in his voice.

"Yeah," Landry says eagerly, diving right in to the story.

~oo(0)oo~

Tim's ribs ache from laughing, and, lying on the cement next to him, Landry's still wiping a few tears from his eyes. Landry's voice is starting to go a bit scratchy -- _Bubba Ho-Tep_'s kind of long to read out loud in one sitting  and there's really not enough light left for another story.

Landry gives one last wheeze of laughter and stands. Tim follows, more stiffly than he'd like. Laying down on chilly cement after practice and spending the next hour or so not moving isn't exactly the smartest thing.

He's in Landry's space, or maybe Landry's in his space, and Landry's eyes are rabbiting in that way of his.

"Is there anything else?" Landry asks.

Tim smiles. "Yeah. Come here and kiss me. I'm tired of always making the first move."

Landry starts, then leans in and kind of hovers for a moment before coming in too fast, and his teeth bang against Tim's lip, mashing it.

A split second later, Landry breaks it off, and puts his hand over his own mouth. "There's a reason I don't do this sort of thing," he says from behind his hand.

They both laugh and Tim runs his tongue along the back edge of his upper lip, making sure he can't feel torn flesh or taste blood, because right now it's doing that thing where it's both throbbing in pain and yet it's sort of numb.

He pulls Landry to him and kisses him, but carefully, and backs him against pillar and slides his hand under Landry's T-shirt. Landry winces and hisses because Tim's hands are somewhat cold. For a guy who's not a jock, Landry's actually got a pretty good body and Tim wonders if he and Matt work out, or maybe flailing around in band practice does it. (Because, shit, you've got to have some pretty good neck and shoulder muscles if you're going to headbang -- Tim found that out at the Crucifictorious show.)

Tim likes the way that Landry sucks in a quick breath when Tim runs his hands around Landry's back and grabs a bit at the muscles there, kneading, before bringing his hands back around and heading up Landry's chest.

"You are not taking my shirt off. Too cold." Landry's whisper is a tickle of hot air against his ear.

For what seems like the 60th time that day, Tim swallows back down yet another _I'm not as stupid as you think _. He makes a tisking noise instead, and rolls his eyes, and runs his hands around to Landry's back again, sliding them up and down Landry's spine, where it's warm, and he burrows his head into the juncture of Landry's head and shoulder. He breathes in Landry's smell -- mountain fresh fabric softener and Right Guard. The hint of stubble on Landry's chin scrapes against the side of his head and Tim would like to stand like this for ... oh a couple of hours and let the world go by, and just soak in the feeling of being warm and not judged (much), and just _right_ somehow.

He pushes his hands into the waistband at the back of Landry's jeans and Landry gives a kind of hitching breath, and Tim can feel him, hard and warm against his hips. He doesn't ask, just movies his hands to the front, and goes to work unbuckling, unbuttoning, and unzipping. Landry flops his head back and lets out a long, shuddery sigh when Tim reaches into his boxers. He's hard and oozing wet, and blowtorch hot, and Tim can actually feel his pulse and it's ... he almost feels like he's holding Landry's beating heart.

His hands ease Landry's jeans and boxers down, and Landry's eyes turn huge, and Tim locks into them as he begins to go down.

"Tim ..." Landry breathes.

Tim just smiles up at him and cocks his head and blows on Landry's dick, making it jump, before giving it one long, slow, root-to-tip lick. Then he takes as much of it as he can -- Landry's a big boy -- into his mouth. Landry makes a from the toes groan that's music to Tim's ears. What he can't get into his mouth, he jacks with his hand and Landry makes a sort of wimpery noise.

Landry bucks his hips a few times, gagging Tim, but he chalks it up to what it takes to have Landry here, like this, moaning and needing, (and wanting him) and Tim vibes on the way that Landry's cock swells or jitters ever so slightly in response to what he does with his tongue. He likes that Landry likes it when he snakes his tongue along the shaft and tickles under the crown, likes it so much that his cock gives a fresh spurt of salty pre-come on to Tim's tongue.

Tim even likes the way it smells down here. A bit like fabric softener and Irish Spring, but mostly it's musky, but different from girl musk (and certainly different than girl taste) and that clean _guy _ smell just goes straight to Tim's dick, because it's a sex smell, and Tim likes sex. A lot.

(It's one of the few things he's absolutely certain he's good at.)

He sucks harder, jacks faster, and Landry's letting out a constant stream of ohgods and ohyeahs and justlikethats, and Landry's fingers curl through Tim's hair, and with his other hand, gripping Landry's hip, Tim can feel the shudders running through the muscles as Landry fights the urge to thrust.

"Tim!"

But his hand tightens in Tim's hair, and Tim can't quite pull away in time because of that. It's like Landry's cock explodes in his mouth, and Tim reels back, sputtering, and the second spurt catches him on the chin, and some of it dribbles onto his shirt.

_Well, shit _.

"Oh ... God, Tim ..." Landry's so blissed out that he can't even pretend shame.

"Yeah, thanks for the advance warning and not holding my head in place." But Tim can't stay pissed for too long, because it _was_ kind of funny, and it's not like he's never caught a girl in the face when she was slow or he just couldn't pull away in time.

Landry drew in a deep breath when he climbed to his feet. "Um ..."

"You don't have to go even-Steven on me." _Because last time, I had to warn you about teeth a few times, and I don't know if I want to do more blow job training right now_.

Landry's hands go right to the front of his jeans and within a second he's got a hand _right there_, and Tim can't stop the groan as Landry gives the first stroke. He leans in, licking and kissing a bit at Landry's neck.

"Careful. No hickeys, okay?"

Tim rolls his eyes and is about to say that he's not an idiot, but Landry jerks him hard and what hisses out of his mouth is, "Oh Jesus, like that!" and it quickly becomes a case of Landry jacking him incredibly hard and fast and Tim muffles the little noises that come creeling out of his throat into Landry's shoulder.

But he's the one left blushing when Landry reaches down with the other hand and cups his sack for a moment before sending one finger back to tickle along his taint because the breath leaves him in a long "uuuuuuhhhh!" and he finds himself pushed over the edge as suddenly as being unexpectedly thrown into a pool.

He almost pulls back and away in time, but there's a big glob of come soaking into the canvas of Landry's Chuck Taylor.

Landry looks at him and starts laughing and Tim joins in too, mostly out of relief.

They can't look at each other for more than a split second while they adjust, zip, button, and buckle, because the little glances they do shoot each other cause a fresh flood of snickers.

Tim draws in a deep breath. "We good?"

Landry's face is plastered with a completely goofy grin. "Yeah."

Tim lets out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

(He made Landry happy, so Landry's not leaving.)

He feels happy, almost giddy, as they head out from beneath the bleachers and on to the walkway that takes them out of the stadium.

Tim's pretty sure that Billy put some pork chops out to thaw, and he wonders if he wants BBQ sauce on his, or if they have applesauce and allspice, maybe --

\-- a hand comes out of nowhere and clamps on to his shoulder.

He gasps as a live wire jolt of shock slams through his body.

Landry yelps.

Tim whirls, shaking with the adrenaline rush.

It's Coach, and he goes from being angry to completely puzzled. He glances from Tim to Landry for a few moments, shakes his head and says, "I'm sorry, boys, I thought this was completely something different. I come down here from time to time go get away from it all, in the last place anybody would think to look for me, and it sounded like," he chuckles, "two dumbasses were getting it on under the bleachers."

Tim's heart seizes in his chest. His stomach does a sick flip-flop.

"What?" Landry says, eyebrows climbing to his hairline. "Really?"

Coach laughs again and shakes his head. "I could swear I heard -- I sometimes catch your classmates down here."

_Fuck. Don'topenyourmouthLandryleavewellenoughalonelet'sjustgetaway. _ Tim's got his hand on Landry's upper arm and tries to move him along.

"Oh, that was us you heard."

Tim wants to die. After he kills Landry.

Coach's mouth sags in shock.

Landry holds up the book. "We're reading books by Texas authors, and I can guarantee you that this one is really funny. Like, roll on the floor crying funny. It's kind of weird and echoey down there, so it probably ended up sounding like ..." his voice trails off and he blushes, "something else."

Coach _blushes_ back and says, "Uh, yeah," and looks positively relieved as he brushes past them and changes direction to head for the field.

Tim's legs hold out until they are 100 feet out of the stadium and then he sags onto a bench. _Because, if Coach had caught them? Oh fuck. _ His stomach gives a sick lurch at the thought.

Landry flops down next to him, not looking much better for a few moments, but then he bursts into snickers. Tim can only goggle at him.

"God," Landry wheezes, his voice a little ragged, "I think I know how you felt when Billy caught you in my Metallica shirt."

_Oh God yes_. Tim has to laugh a little about that memory, even though he was sweating bullets at the time. "Yeah," he says, "you lie pretty good in a pinch."

"Pretty good?" Landry puffs out his chest. "Tim, even you have to admit that that was inspired."

"Okay."

"In fact, I think it was genius, even."

Tim smirks at him and says, "What do I get if I say yes?"

**Author's Note:**

> Has a sequel in [Shooting Stars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/48836).


End file.
